


putting on a jacket when the heat drops

by jefferoni (CrowleysGlasses)



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Bittersweet Ending, Fluff, Hurt Alexander Hamilton, Hurt Thomas Jefferson, Light Angst, Loneliness, M/M, Poor boys :(, Sad Thomas Jefferson, The Author Regrets Nothing, i got carried away, no beta we die like men, theres a tiny bit of angst but this is really just fluff, theyre lonely
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:47:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25448596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrowleysGlasses/pseuds/jefferoni
Summary: Jamilton AU where Thomas walks into Hamilton’s office and Alex is asleep at his desk because he is Overworked and never lets himself rest and Thomas just feels bad and gives him a blanket or something- Tumblr Anon-Jefferson didn’t want to go home, neither did Hamilton. Thank god the man left his light on, right?
Relationships: Alexander Hamilton/Thomas Jefferson
Comments: 13
Kudos: 220





	putting on a jacket when the heat drops

**Author's Note:**

  * For [14_shillings_and_6_pence](https://archiveofourown.org/users/14_shillings_and_6_pence/gifts).



> Title taken from Intro by ThirdFloor  
> This is just fluff and the boys being sad together.
> 
> For 14_shillings_and_6_pence for being wonderful :)

It was no secret in the office that Hamilton and Jefferson were fierce rivals. However if anyone cared enough to look past the painted on hatred, they would see something softer in each of them. Of course, the two were stubborn. They refused to share these feelings for the other, less it ruin the routine they had written for themselves.

It was a warm July night when Jefferson finally looked up from his laptop. He had been working furiously to fight Hamilton's financial plan, the man combating against him just as brutally to push it through Congress.

The time on his expensive black watch read in blinking red numbers (because he had a digital watch, found it easier and quicker to read) 22:34. He had already stayed way past the end of his shift, which was supposed to end at 19:30, so it's probably time to head back to his house. Not to the wife and kids, no, to the microwave dinner and cold, empty bed he calls home.

He packs his things slowly, almost reluctant to leave the closest place to home he has. At least here he doesn't eat alone, doesn't have the company of the TV and nothing else. It's sad, is what it is. Others would take pity on him, Mr Jefferson the sad, lonely man on the bridge of 40. Or at least they would if anyone actually cared enough to ask him how he was now and again. On the other hand, if someone was to ask him such a simple question he may break down faster than he would like to admit.

Shoving his laptop into its bag, and then unceremoniously heaving that bag into his backpack, he checks over his desk. He clicks off the lamp, plunging the room into relative darkness. He escapes the clutches of the dark with fast feet and makes his way down the silent halls. Everyone else must've already left.

He thought wrong.

As Jefferson passes Hamilton's office, he notices a light still on. "No way is he still here," he mutters to himself. How unenviromental must Hamilton be to leave his lamp on overnight? Good job Jefferson is around to clean up everyone elses mistakes.

He opens the door, surprised to find it unlocked and steps inside. The sight before him is one he hadn't expected.

Hamilton lies face down, cheek pressed to the wood of his desk, slumped in his seat. Only a lamp and the light from his laptop illuminate his face, casting dark shadows over the dips below his cheekbones. There are bags under his eyes, and even from afar Jefferson can make out a faint snoring.

Hamilton shivers in his sleep, lets out a soft noise that sounds too close to a whimper for Jefferson to handle and in that moment he knows he can't leave the man like this. Not now that he's seen it, the image won't leave his head for weeks. He'll lie guilty in bed, or guiltier than he usually would, and think about all the things he could've done to assist the helpless Hamilton. It strikes a chord deep in his chest, like the beginning of a song and he springs to action.

He peels off his heavy velvet jacket, drops his backpack to the floor with little care for the contents in it and makes his way over to Hamilton. The man looks as though he needs this sleep, so, frightened to wake him, he pauses by his desk and grabs a pen out of its pot.

He retrieves a post it note from on top of the desk too, and quickly scribbles a note.

_You must've fallen asleep at your desk, everyone already left. You were shivering, and believe it or not I felt bad. Bring my jacket back whenever you find the time. PS: I saved your work, don't worry. - Thomas Jefferson_

He saves Hamilton's work, pulls the laptop away from his hands and closed the front. Jefferson sticks the note on the top of it and a languid sigh leaves his lips. He drapes his coat over the back of Hamilton' shoulders, tucks the sleeves under his arms and steps back.

It doesn't escape his notice how peaceful Hamilton looks asleep, without a scowl on his lips, or a fire raging in his eyes. He's soft when he's not debating. Cute. That's the word he's searching for. Hamilton looks adorable.

He manages a smile, a genuine one for the first time in forever. And to believe it's caused by Hamilton of all people? His coworkers would never believe him if he told them.

Jefferson turns the lamp off and makes his way back to the door. He's picking up his bag when he hears a soft grunt and shuffling. He casts a look over his shoulder in time to see Hamilton rub his eyes and yawn. His limbs go lethargic, refuse to move and cement him in place.

Hamilton looks confused, feeling the velvet over his shoulders and finally guides his gaze over to Jefferson at the door. He stands more like a shadow in the doorway, a dark presence blocking the light from the hallway. But even in the low lighting, Hamilton can make out the nervous smile on his lips.

He picks at the note on his laptop and reads it quickly, sensing Jefferson still standing there. Hamilton glances back over at him, and Jefferson shifts under the stare.

"Thank you," he says quietly, pulling the jacket tighter around his cold form. The heating had been turned off in the office at around 9, usually everyone is gone by then.

"No problem," Jefferson replies in an oddly awkward way, fixing his tie and then his shirt which doesn't really need adjusting. "You should really go home, Hamilton. It's late. Why are you still here?"

Hamilton shrugs. "If I go home, I'll work. If I stay here. I'll work. It doesn't really matter." He catches a glimpse of a shining ring, two of them actually, on a chain around Jefferson's neck. Wedding rings?

Jefferson must see him staring and flies a quick hand up to tuck the rings under his shirt, looking away speedily afterwards.

"I could be asking you the same thing. What are you still doing here Mr Jefferson?" It's strange, but everything is after dark. He never has called Jefferson 'Mr' before, save for the first time they had met. He never wanted to show the man such respect. And yet, as poorly as they treat each other, here they are, speaking as friends. Jefferson gave him his jacket. It makes Hamilton's cheeks heat up, knowing that it's Jefferson's coat he's swaddled in, and it takes a lot of strength he doesn't really have to not bury himself in the material and breathe in the scent. Jefferson must wear expensive cologne, he notes absently. "Isn't the Missus waiting?"

"I-" Jefferson shakes his head, visibly playing with the chain around his neck. "If you mean waiting six feet under, then yes. She's waiting." He confesses, shifting foot to foot.

Hamilton snaps his mouth shut and looks away. "Then why are you still here?" He repeats the question.

Jefferson is silent for a long moment before he finally answers. "I- it's the quiet. It's suffocating when I'm alone. I can't stand it." He shudders. When it's quiet and he's alone... then it's just him and his thoughts. And his thoughts like to blame him for Martha's death. For not seeing the illness creeping up on her earlier. He could've saved her-

"Hey, Jefferson?" Hamilton's voice cuts through the silence, steadying his breathing for him almost immediately.

"If you really want to, you can... you can stay here with me for a bit. I don't really want to go home either." If he's honest, home isn't a word Hamilton is familiar with. The place he used to call home feels more like solitary confinement now. The loneliness that consumes him always seems to become too much to handle.

Jefferson doesn't say a word, but he steps back into the office and closes the door. He turns the lamp on Hamilton's desk back on and sits down in the seat opposite him with a sigh. Neither of them say a word. It's simply understood that they can sit, quiet apart from the slow rise and fall of chests, and merely be in each others presence.

Hamilton takes the opportunity to sigh and slump in his seat, doing up the few buttons on Jefferson's coat and pulling the fabric around him. He finds himself looking at Jefferson, whom looks much less tense. The stress has ebbed from his frame and it makes Hamilton smile.

It may be quiet, but it's not silent. The room isn't a prison cell, it isn't suffocating. Neither of them have to think about anything other than each other.

And that's all that matters.

**Author's Note:**

> leave feedback! I don’t write for y’all to ignore the comment and kudos button :)
> 
> Also! I included some of my own headcannons in this!  
> Jefferson wears both his and his late-wifes wedding rings around his neck on a chain  
> Jefferson is scared of the dark and the quiet   
> Hamilton is scared of being alone


End file.
